


The Female Gaze

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Female Gaze, Prompt Fic, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7887178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally a prompt from Fire_Sign, who had a Jack-in-the-shower scene that she didn’t want to turn into a smutfest. She knew, however, that we really needed a Jack-takes-a-shower fic (or several, please feel free to make your own), so she passed it over to me. It turned into a discussion with several other writers when I just couldn’t get the idea to take shape—I blame (bless) them for what this became, particularly TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, whose idea it was to turn this “little drabble on the female gaze” into a 5+1: Five times Jack Robinson was caught in the shower and one time he acted on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Female Gaze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts), [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).



**ONE**

Concetta Fabrizzi approached the station carefully. The inspector assigned to the investigation of her husband’s murder hadn’t come by in almost a week, and Papa Antonio wanted to know what progress had been made. He didn’t, however, want to be seen asking, so he sent Concetta instead.

 _Someday, I will no longer be at his beck and call._ She smoothed down her black skirt with one gloved hand as she pushed through the heavy door. _At least now I have no husband with whose demands I also must comply._

She looked around the entryway—strangely, no one stood behind the desk. She could see the inspector’s office just beyond the lobby, so she stepped through, intending to knock. At the touch of her hand, however, the door swung open to reveal an empty room.

Concetta glanced around. She could wait here, she supposed, but she had bread to bake for tonight’s customers, and if she left without an answer, Papa Antonio would be… unhappy. Her back still ached from the last time she’d made him angry, and she had no desire to feel the switch again anytime soon. Gathering her courage, she ventured deeper in, calling a soft “hello?” at each doorway, but the station appeared to be deserted.

Behind the inspector’s office was a room with only a table and chairs, and past that an open doorway led to a flight of stairs. She listened for a moment at the top, and thinking that she heard sounds below, ventured carefully down. She was grateful for her gloves, because her fingers were sweating.

At the bottom of the stairs was a long hallway, and she could hear something from the first doorway on the right, though she wasn’t sure what it was. Carefully, she peeked into the room, acutely conscious that she should not be here. A deep rumbling voice came from a doorway off to one side of what looked like a gymnasium, and she moved toward it as if compelled.

Hesitantly peeking around the corner, the “hello?” on the tip of her tongue froze there at the sight before her. The inspector—what was his name? John? Gianni, she supposed—stood under a showerhead, his toned body on display. He had his head tipped back and appeared to be rinsing his hair after a shampoo, his warm humming resonating around the room as he washed.

Concetta’s marriage had not been a happy one; her husband had been a pig who never thought of her pleasure when he could have his own. By the time he’d died, she thought that he had killed any appreciation she had for the male body, since he’d used his so often as a weapon against her. But this man… this man’s body was beautiful.

His wide shoulders tapered to muscular arms covered in smooth, tanned skin; his broad chest was crowned with the pinkish-brown disks of his nipples and dusted with a light covering of hair. His arching back curved down to buttocks rounded with muscle and concave on the sides; he shuffled around and she saw a flat belly leading down to thickly muscular thighs that framed a cock that was rather substantial, even in its current unaroused state. The water sheeting over him, even mixed with the suds of his shampoo, made him glisten in the room’s lamplight; soap was caught in the curls of his chest hair and the hair at the base of his penis, highlighting its color and length.

Swallowing hard, Concetta ducked back through the doorway, praying that he hadn’t seen her. As she hurried back up the stairs to wait in the lobby as she should have done all along, however, she couldn’t deny that the sight of the inspector’s body had aroused her. She felt a heaviness between her legs that she hadn’t experienced since she was fresh off the boat at seventeen.

Settling herself on the hard bench of the seat in front of the desk, Concetta fidgeted, feeling the sensitivity of the flesh between her legs. She rolled her lips together, picturing his nakedness in her mind’s eye and wondering whether a man who looked like that could be generous enough to amplify the pleasure that she’d felt in stolen kisses before her marriage. She wasn’t yet ready to find out, but maybe she could take a first, tentative step. If he was a single man, he likely needed someone to cook for him. She would invite him to dinner at the restaurant—as a thank you for his hard work on her husband’s case—and then see where the association took them.

 

* * *

 

**TWO**

Dorothy Williams was accustomed to being the only one at Wardlow who got up early. That was, she assured herself later, why she hadn’t registered the sound of the shower when she pushed open the door to the bathroom at the McNasters’ house in Queenscliff. Her miss never rose before midmorning, and Mr. Butler had his own suite of rooms—who else would be up at this hour?

Apparently, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was an early riser. And he was accustomed to bathing in the morning—something else her miss rarely did, preferring an evening bath. The white curtain around the shower enclosure gaped at the short end, allowing Dot a full view of his back and bottom.

Dumbstruck, she _looked_ , unable to stop herself from tracing his wide shoulders with her eyes, then down the deep divot of his spine and the shifting muscles of his back as he soaped himself. His buttocks, hard and round with skin several shades lighter than the rest of him, flexed as he rocked lightly from foot to foot. His thighs were wide, his calf muscles well-defined.

As if suddenly released from stasis, Dot let out a strangled “eep!” as she clapped her hands over her mouth. The inspector whirled around, which made it worse, because now she could see _more_ of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands moving upward to cover them.

“Miss Williams!”

He was startled, of course he was, but was that also _laughter_ in his tone? Dot didn’t stay to find out. Turning carefully, she kept her eyes closed and her hands covering them until she faced what she thought was the direction of the door, then she cautiously opened her eyes, peeking through her fingers. Yes, there was the door—right beside that mirror, in which she could see the man, now holding the edge of the shower curtain over his privates, his mouth open in surprise.

“I’m sorry, inspector, I didn’t realize… I didn’t think… Please excuse me.”

Leaving the bathroom far faster than she’d entered, Dot pulled the door closed behind her and leaned against it, her head in her hands. Behind her, she heard a soft curse—reminded where she was, she hurried away from the bathroom door. She wanted it to be some time before she ever saw the inspector again, preferably forever.

By the time she reached her room, however, she’d had time to consider—what would Miss Phryne have done in that situation? Her miss would have stood her ground and ogled, is what she would have done. And then she’d have made some flirtatious comment and joined him in the shower, no doubt. Huffing out a laugh, Dot sat on her bed and gave herself a moment to think about what she’d seen. Was that what a naked man looked like? Would Hugh look like that?

She crossed herself, knowing that she’d be confessing this sin at the next opportunity, but she did it anyway. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision Hugh wearing nothing but his skin. Would his shoulders be as wide, or his bottom as round? Would his… privates be as large? Admittedly, she’d shut her eyes before seeing more than a glimpse, but it had been enough. She felt a smile tilt her lips. She thought perhaps that her Hugh’s body would be even more attractive than the inspector’s.

A few hours later, she was terribly thankful that the inspector appeared to be willing to ignore their morning encounter. Watching him and Hugh frolicking in the waves in their swimming costumes, she mused—rather smugly—that she’d been right. Her Hugh was far more attractive than the inspector. Miss Phryne was welcome to Inspector Robinson; Dot had her preference.

 

* * *

 

**THREE**

_Really, what are these young people thinking? In my day, a simple wash at the basin would do. None of these hours-long showers using oodles of water. I need to give that girl a piece of my mind. As if it isn’t enough to have a murderer attempting to pick us all off one by one, must we manage with cold-water bathing as well?_

Prudence Stanley knocked at the door of the bathing room down the hallway from Phryne’s bedroom at the chalet, two hard, short raps before she opened the door, intending to give her niece a talking-to for monopolizing the shower. She was speaking before the door was even open.

“Phryne, finish up, gel! There are others who—” Stepping into the bathroom, she stopped short. It wasn’t Phryne in the shower, and the shocked face of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson wasn’t the only skin that she could see. He stood in the open shower stall of the bathing room, his back to her, his face turned toward her and his expression horrified.

Blinking, Prudence took in his smooth tanned skin, gleaming under the water that cascaded from the showerhead, noting the musculature of his back and shoulders, the roundness of his buttocks, the shadow between his legs where his manhood hung.

“Really, inspector,” she blustered, raising a hand to her chest. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Mrs. Stanley!” His usually deep voice rising by at least half an octave, he scrabbled for a towel to cover himself as she stood there, her eyes narrow and her lips pursed. “I… um. I’m taking a shower?”

“I had thought that this was my niece’s bathroom,” she said, her tone frigid.

“It is, yes. She was kind enough to allow me to use it, as the other was occupied.” He cleared his throat. “I’m nearly done. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish up and get back to my room.”

“See that you do,” she said. “And next time, lock the door, man!” Turning, she left the bathroom, closing the door with a sharp click.

Now that she was out of sight, she allowed herself a snicker. Covering her mouth with one hand, she hurried to her room where the snicker turned to a guffaw. _His face!_ She laughed again, long and hard. When her mirth had subsided, she sighed. That had been a welcome release of the tension of the last few days. Shaking her head, she thought back on the scene in the bathroom.

Phryne’s inspector was a fine figure of a man. His build had reminded her of her Edward, when they were younger. Back then, if she’d found Edward in such a situation, she wouldn’t have left him alone. She wondered whether Phryne had intended to join Inspector Robinson in his shower. A smirk pulling at her lips, Prudence tried to be truly scandalized by the idea, but the truth was, if Phryne had a chance at a man who looked like that when he was naked, she should take it.

 

* * *

 

**FOUR**

“Jack! Jackie!” Elsie Tizzard stumbled down the steps to the cells at City South, the route feeling very familiar. It had been a nice night. She’d had a letter from her boy, and he’d enclosed some money, so she’d been able to go out and buy a bottle or two—or had it been three?—of sly grog. She was feeling a little woozy now, though, and as she’d been outside the police station—she wasn’t quite sure how she’d got there—she’d come in for a visit with her favorite policeman, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

“Ha! Detective Inspector,” the words felt heavy on her tongue. “Why, I knew him when he was just a stripling. CON-stable Robinson, he was then.” She stumbled past the cells, empty of residents so far this evening, and on down the hall.

“Jackie,” she called, shuffling down the hallway, which seemed to tilt as she moved, her shoulder bumping against the right-hand wall.

Turning in to the next doorway, she found herself faced with a bank of wooden-fronted lockers, each closed with a padlock. A sort of whispering sound caught her attention off to the right, and she turned to see the man she was after, in the flesh. All of the flesh, actually. Elsie raised her eyebrows. Jackie was showering in one of the open-fronted stalls, his feet planted firmly on either side of the drain, his head back as he rinsed soap from his face and body.

And what a body, she thought muzzily. _If I was twenty years younger, I’d have to take you home with me for a night._

Jack’s eyes shot open, and lit on her. _Oh, had she said that out loud?_ His hands flew to cover what had been a rather lovely bit of tackle—every bit as lovely as that of the man who’d fathered her Matthew.

“You did, yes. Holy god, Elsie, how did you get down here?” He reached for his towel, hanging on a hook beside the shower stall, stepping out of the shower spray and wrapping the towel around his waist.

“I was lookin’ fer you, Jackie,” she said, smiling at him. “Yer the best policeman on the force, y’know?”

“Thank you, Elsie.” Leaning back in, Jack turned off the shower. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shrugged. Stepping over to one of the lockers, he rummaged inside for a moment and came out with a set of keys. “Shall we find you a bunk for the night, then, love?”

“You have a kind face, Jackie. Like my boy.” Elsie smiled up at him, swaying slightly. It was true. He was a good man, for all that he was a copper. He’d never been cruel to her the way that the other coppers were. “Got a letter from him today,” she said.

“Oh, and how is Matthew?” Jack stepped closer, holding the towel tightly at his waist, his hair and chest still dripping, and took her arm with the hand in which he held the keys.

“He’s all right, ready to come home, though,” she sighed. She walked quietly beside him as he led her back down the hallway to the cells. “He misses his mum, bless him.”

“I can imagine, Elsie, with a mum like you.”

Elsie beamed up at him. “You’re a good man, Jackie.” She moved with him as he steered her into one of the cells.

“Good night, Elsie. Give a shout in the morning when you’re ready to go.” Jack smiled at her, shaking his wet head as he turned the key in the cell door. With a small wave, he headed back down the hall.

“A good man, Jack,” she said loudly, “and you’ve got a really nice—”

“Good night, Else!” He responded, laughing. His next words were low, as if he was talking to himself. “I swear, I am never showering here again unless I know that Collins is manning the front desk.”

Laughing to herself, Elsie curled up on the thin mattress and closed her eyes, content.

 

* * *

 

**FIVE**

Mac quietly opened the door to Phryne’s bedroom. She’d been told that the inspector was sleeping after his ordeal, and she didn’t want to wake him prematurely. She’d have to wake him eventually—she needed to check his pupils. Head wounds were nothing to sneeze at, and by all accounts, he’d been whacked over the head rather soundly with that cricket bat. Phryne had told her the story—something about running down a suspected burglar at a neighborhood game. Mac smirked. Perhaps next time the inspector would wait till the suspect had dropped the bat before he advanced.

Stepping inside, she shut the door carefully behind her and turned to the bed, expecting to see Jack tucked up snug and warm. But the bed was empty, the covers flung aside. Eyebrows lowering in a frown, Mac turned with a bit more urgency to the door to the en suite bathroom; perhaps the inspector had needed to relieve himself. She listened for a moment at the closed doorway, and the sound she heard within made her temper rise.

He was showering. With a head wound. That had nearly cracked his skull and could make him pass out at any moment. The fool.

Eyes narrowed, Mac opened the door to the bathroom and stepped inside. The white clawfoot tub was ringed by a deep purple curtain, with the showerhead visible above the top edge. As she watched, a large male hand raised high and then disappeared below the curtain again, followed by the opposite hand.

In two strides, she was at the edge of the tub, whipping the curtain aside. Jack squeaked—Mac had to fight to keep from laughing at such a small sound emanating from a man whose voice was usually a low bass rumble—and tried to cover himself with his hands. Mac looked him up and down, her expression disgusted.

“Mac? What are you—”

“You do realize that head wounds can make you dizzy, don’t you, Jack?” She cut him off, her voice coldly sarcastic.

“I… um…”

“And you do realize that when you are dizzy, it is easy to fall in a wet tub, and equally as possible to injure yourself again, aggravating said head wound.”

“I… there…” He looked at her, and whatever he saw in her face seemed to discourage him from trying to defend himself. “Yes.”

“Then _what_ in the _hell_ do you think you’re doing, taking a shower when you should be doing nothing more strenuous than lying flat on your back for at least a day?” Mac’s voice rose in a roar.

“I was dirty?” Jack’s voice was soft and slightly hoarse, and his eyes, she could see, were dull with pain. His pupils were dilated evenly, though, which was a good sign.

Mac shook her head. _Men._ She shrugged out of her jacket and set it aside, then rolled up her shirtsleeves. “Of all the stupid, asinine, _male_ things to do. Just… stand still. I’ll rinse you off and help you out.”

Reaching in, she took the shower wand and hit the switch to change the direction of the water through the pipes. She rinsed him off, absently noting the musculature of his chest and shoulders—he’d make a good anatomy model—and his thick thighs and well-shaped calves. Businesslike, she directed the spray at his groin to remove the soap suds that were matting the hair there, ignoring the weak way he said her name.

“Put your hands on the shower pole and lean forward. I’ll rinse your hair, but I don’t want you to overbalance.”

He meekly did as she told him to, closing his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair to loosen the suds. She took the opportunity to examine his wound carefully. The blow hadn’t broken the skin, but he had a nasty goose egg. Pointing the shower wand at his back, she watched until all of the soap had run down off his ass, then reached in to shut off the water.

“Stay there.”

Reaching for a towel, she briskly rubbed it over his head and body, being as gentle as she could around the site of his injury while still getting the bulk of the wet out of his thick, curling hair.

“Right, put your hand on my shoulder, and step out.” She wrapped an arm around his waist as he complied. His skin was warm, but not fever warm, she noted. “One foot—that’s good—and then the other. Excellent.” She looped the towel around his waist, and walked with him back toward the bed.

“My pajamas…” he said feebly, looking back toward the bathroom.

“I’ll get them in a minute. You need to sit down. Stubborn, foolish man.”

“Didn’t want to get her bed dirty,” he mumbled.

“She wouldn’t have put you there if she’d minded, you idiot.” Mac’s caustic words were delivered softly as she helped him turn and lie down on the pillows. His groan of relief was almost comical.

With a smile, she left him there and went back to get his pajamas; he was barely awake, but was able to cooperate as she dressed him and tucked him under the blankets. As soon as she’d buttoned the last button on his pajama top and pulled the blankets over him, he rolled toward the center of the bed, turning his back to her and gathering one of the many pillows to his chest. She thought she heard him whisper Phryne’s name.

Shaking her head, she unrolled her sleeves and replaced her jacket, then came back to stand beside him on the bed. She laid a palm gently on his forehead to check again for fever, then probed a bit at his injury, but he didn’t stir.

Turning away, she left the room, closing the door behind her. As she headed down to report to the household—and to inform them that someone would need to wake Jack every two hours or so through the night to make sure that he didn’t fall into a coma—she decided that it would be _extra_ fun to be able to tell Phryne that she’d seen him naked, which was more than her friend had been able to do so far. Her lips quirked in a wicked smile. Jack Robinson was a fine figure of a man. If she tended that way, she might even have decided to give Phryne a run for her money, and not just for the sake of procreation.

 

* * *

 

**PLUS ONE MORE**

Phryne quietly let herself into Jack’s bungalow, calling his name softly; it was late, but she knew that he’d only left the station a little while ago. She’d stopped there first, bearing a dinner basket for him and Hugh, and she’d been informed that both men had only just clocked out.

She had decided to follow him home—he’d need to eat, if what he’d told her about his day was any indication. He’d been planning to come to Wardlow for dinner—and she’d had plans for him after dinner—but he’d had to call and cancel. Apparently, just as he’d been preparing to leave there’d been a scrum of gang members down near Luna Park, and he and as many constables as he could muster had been called out to break it up. He’d expected the call to take three or four hours, but it hadn’t been that long. She wondered why, if he’d finished early, he hadn’t rung her and come over.

Setting the dinner basket on the kitchen table, she scanned the front rooms; no Jack, and no lamps were lit. He was here—she’d seen the police motor car out front—but he must have headed directly back to his bedroom. _Poor darling, he must be exhausted!_ Heading back there herself, a familiar route these days, she moved quietly. If he was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him.

It wasn’t till she reached the bedroom, which was illuminated by a single lamp, and saw his suit hanging over the back of a chair that she remembered the morning’s rain. The grounds around the Luna Park gazebo must have been soupy, and if he’d actually gotten into it with the suspects, he’d likely have needed to wash off. She lifted his suit jacket—it was even worse than she’d thought on first glance. There was mud all up the back and side, as if he’d fallen into it; his waistcoat was ripped, as were the knees of his trousers. _I’m not sure even Mr B’s skill will be able to salvage this_. She shook her head.

Moving over to the doorway into the bungalow’s bathroom, she listened carefully. Sure enough, the shower was running. _Perhaps he needs someone to wash his back_. Her smile was feline, and she moved back into the room, quickly stripping off.

When she was naked, she quietly opened the bathroom door, then shut it behind her, trapping the heat and steam of the shower in with them. Without a word, she drew the curtain aside and stepped into the tub behind him, running her hands up his wide, wet back and down to stroke around and press against his belly.

Jack stiffened, then relaxed. “Hello, love,” he rumbled, turning to take her into his arms. “You picked my lock again.”

“Well, if you’d give me a key, I wouldn’t have to,” she said cheekily, rising on her toes to press her lips softly to his, her skin warming against the wet heat of his. “And besides, if you really didn’t want me to come in, you’d get a more difficult lock. It’s practically an invitation, Jack.”

“It’s absolutely an invitation, Miss Fisher,” he said, and kissed her again, his hands sliding down to cup her ass. She could feel his cock hardening, and she squirmed, rubbing herself against him.

“And one that I intend to take you up on often,” she murmured against his lips before licking her tongue into his mouth.

With a  groan, he set his feet and lifted her; she wrapped her legs around his waist as she continued to kiss him, her arms wound about his neck and her fingers speared into his wet hair. He kissed her back, one hand sliding around her thigh to toy with her sex. She whimpered, moving against his seeking fingers until they found her clit and began to rub. Lifting her head, she gasped, and he took the opportunity to drop his head to her breast, running his tongue over her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The pulling of his lips and tongue at her breast and the movements of his fingers between her legs made her breathless.

“Jack,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. She let her head fall back as she reveled in the feeling of his skin against hers.

“Mmm?” he responded, his head moving to her other breast as he slid two fingers inside her body.

She moaned at the sensation of his fingertips stroking her inner walls as he suckled at her breast. Lifting her head, she slid one hand down his chest to reach between their bodies and take his cock in hand. He groaned around her breast as she pumped her hand on him, swirling her thumb over his head with each stroke. As her hand sped up, she felt the suction on her breast lessen and the fingers inside her falter.

“Jesus, Phryne,” he gasped, raising his head to cover her mouth with his as he shifted his hands on her.

“I want you inside me, Jack,” she whispered.

With a grunt, he lifted her slightly higher; giving him a final stroke, she grasped him firmly and positioned his head at her opening. Jack took a step to place her shoulders against the the wall on one end of the tub. She sucked in a breath at the touch of the tile against her heated skin, cold even through the cloth of the curtain, and then exhaled, open-mouthed, as he sank deeply into her body.

Lowering his mouth to her breast again, Jack caught her nipple between his teeth as he began to pump himself into her, again and again. Phryne’s hands scrabbled for purchase at his shoulders, finally taking a handful of his hair with one and wrapping the other around his upper arm. From this position, she didn’t have the leverage to help him thrust; all she could do was hold on as he fucked her. For long minutes, she listened to the sounds of the slapping of his flesh against hers and felt him all around and inside her, the tension in her belly growing. She heard herself gasping his name as he held her with one hand and pushed one of her thighs to the side to open her up more; redoubling his efforts, he changed his angle inside her and she helplessly tensed her fingers against him, her nails biting into his skin, as the force of his thrusts turned erratic.

“I’m close, Phryne—go over,” he gasped, hitching her up again so that she bounced on his impaling flesh.

In answer, she pulled her hand from his bicep and stroked down to finger her clit, pressing and pulling at the sensitive nub as he continued to pump inside her.

“Put your mouth on me, Jack,” she gasped, and he obeyed, licking her nipple into his mouth and suckling strongly. She felt the wet suction all the way to her clit, and with a final pinching rub of that flesh, she shattered, her back arching and her mouth stretching open on a wail.

With a shout of his own, his mouth wide on her breast, Jack’s hips stuttered into hers as he came, the warmth of his release flooding her. Gasping for breath, Phryne pulled her hand from between them and wrapped it around his shoulders; after a moment, Jack released her legs, allowing them to slip down his hips to let her stand on the bottom of the tub, his softening cock sliding gently out of her as he gathered her close and moved back under the spray.

They rinsed themselves in the now-cool water of the shower, shivering and giggling; shutting the water off, they stepped out and dried off—Phryne hadn’t brought a towel in with her, so they shared one, Jack rubbing it against her skin and dropping kisses along the way. He wrapped the towel around her, using it to pull her close.

“You _are_ staying?” His voice was low and warm; she felt it brush over her skin like one of her fur stoles.

“Unless you want me to go,” she said, smiling up at him, certain of her welcome.

“Hardly, Miss Fisher.” His own smile was slight, but she loved how it creased the skin of his cheek. Not really a dimple, but it made a surprising change in his handsome face.

“Good. I brought dinner, and you’d have had to fight me for it. Mr Butler made cottage pie.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Did you include a fork this time?”

“Now why would I do that, Jack, when you make _such_ good progress with your fingers?”

“An excellent point,” he said on a chuckle as he quickly toweled himself off. “I’ll just get the basket then, shall I?”

He left the bathroom and walked naked past the bed to reach the kitchen; she shook her head. He was beautifully built, her Jack, and the way he moved, that prowling grace, was hypnotic. And his ass was really rather a work of art. She sighed happily and crossed the room herself to crawl naked into his bed. Breathing deeply, she smiled. It smelled like Jack, all masculine spice.

When he returned, she sat up, the sheet tucked under her arms, and admired the view from the front; his chiseled chest, his broadly golden shoulders, and his cock nestled in the thatch of dark brown hair at his groin. He wasn’t aroused just now, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. He held up his cargo: the basket in one hand and two forks in the other.

“Just in case we need to quickly restore our strength,” he said as he laid the forks on the bedside table. Setting the basket on the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Phryne, a hand on either side of her hips. “Thank you for bringing me dinner,” he said, his lips brushing over hers tenderly. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel earlier.”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me… again.” She smiled against his mouth, her hands sliding up his braced arms and the sheet falling to her waist.

“You make a compelling argument, Miss Fisher,” he said, his eyes drifting down to her naked breasts. “Perhaps dinner can wait just a little longer?”

Phryne laughed. “I suppose we can find some other way to sustain ourselves, at least for a little while.”

“I’m sure that if we put our heads together—”

“And maybe some other bits?” She smiled at him, running her hand up to cup the back of his head.

“—we’ll come up with _something_ to do before we eat.”

“Excellent thinking, Jack,” she said, and pressed her mouth to his.

The cottage pie was stone cold by the time they got back to it, but neither Jack nor Phryne seemed to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited to add: I had Jack say "You picked my lock again" when Phryne surprised him in the +1, and then I thought, "but wait, when was the first time?" So I had to write it. If you're curious too, it's called [A Thief in the Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7937902), and it made me laugh. I hope it makes you laugh too. ♥


End file.
